By the Time I Get to Phoenix
by Catherine Wheels
Summary: Lithuania will no longer play the victim, and America has abandoned the part of hero. For once, Russia is on his own, and desperate to know which shoes he will fill. -Russia/Lithuania, Russia/America, slightly historical, fall of the USSR.-


A/N: The title is based on the song "By The Time I Get To Phoenix" by Glen Campbell.

I don't know... I think China/America/Russia is my OT3 but this isn't bad... It's a bit crap, fic wise. So it goes.

Also, there's no real reason for Lithuania to be lecturing finances to Russia except that Lithuania and Armenia's economy's both turned around quickest out of any of the countries formerly under soviet control. Russia's economy did not reach a turnaround year for eight years after the fall.

* * *

Russia awoke to an empty house, but he could have predicted that. The shower was cold and the food downstairs had spoiled. The silence was eerie. When he spoke to himself, his voice sounded loud and cracked. How could this have happened? When did things fall apart? And why had America left him?

He could remember the morning it all happened, a cold early autumn day. Lithuania with the tea suddenly dropping it and screaming that he was done, that this was the end, and that everyone knew it. And then laughing like a maniac.

The phone-calls after that were endless. Poland, Armenia, Germany… Russia's head was spinning. He couldn't make it stop. Why had they all left? What had he done wrong?

America had been there, of course. When things went wrong, America was never far away. "How does it feel," America had asked, smiling stupidly. "To be a capitalist?"

"I don't know."

"Let me tell you, pal, this is better than anything you've ever had before." America, sitting there on the sofa, legs spread wide open, that smirk on his face, was always so self confident. And he'd made himself comfortable in Russia's house for the last year or so, meddling in affairs he had no business with.

"This is your fault," Russia muttered, looking at the ground. "All of this is your fault."

"Fault? You say that like I've done something wrong!" America threw his head back and laughed, then glared at Russia, adjusting his glasses and smiling a fake smile. "You need me. You were headed to collapse without me. I mean, god, man, look at you."

Russia had seen himself. He didn't need America's insults. He knew he was pale, that his eyes were rimmed with red and shot through with veins like splatter paint. His lips were thin and his cheeks and nose ruddy with the un-natural drinker's blush. He knew that he had only gotten worse with the stress and pain of late. America didn't need to mock him. "Look at yourself," was all he managed, sighing slightly.

"I do look. All I see is greatness. Now, come here."

And Russia had no choice but to submit. He was too beaten down to say no to a higher-power. He let himself be taken. He knew this was all that was left. He should just let America extinguish his cigarettes on his chest and call him a 'horrible commie' if that's what got him off. If that's what made the whole thing go faster.

Russia knew America wasn't someone to be counted on.

Yet… When Russia awoke to an empty house, with bruises on his legs and small scabs on his chest, with no hero in sight and no victims either… There was something so horribly depressing about it that he broke down and sobbed in the cold shower, and screamed just to make sure he still had a voice.

* * *

YEARS LATER

Lithuania sighed deeply, placing the files back in his briefcase and brushing off his uniform. The train ride to Russia's home-city had been a strange one. With orders from his boss to go and make good with Russia, Lithuania had had no choice but to return to his former captor's house. But after three years… Lithuania had almost hoped that he'd never have to talk to Russia again, much less make a visit to his house.

It looked mostly the same, the house. A new coat of paint, a new front window (the last one had been broken by a copy of "War and Peace" in a fit of rage years ago) and a new welcome mat, but mostly the same. Nervously, Lithuania knocked on the door.

Despite the familiar appearance of Russia's house, Russia looked far worse than Lithuania remembered. He was a bit more heavy set now, and his pale eyes had a hopeless look to them. His left hand shook slightly as he extended it for Lithuania to shake.

"Toris," his voice was soft. "You've come back."

"No, I haven't," Lithuania said flatly. "I've come to give you tips on how to manage your national economy. I know you haven't been as successful as my brother's and I…"

"My turnaround year will come in time, da," Russia snapped, sitting down on the couch and rubbing his forehead.

Lithuania nodded slightly, "But it hasn't yet. And your boss and my boss agreed that the economy is a major part of world opinion of us and-"

"Shut up," Russia groaned, standing up and going into the kitchen, pouring himself a drink and looking hopelessly out the window.

"How many have you had today?" Lithuania asked critically, coming to stand in the kitchen, glaring at Russia.

Russia shrugged, "I don't know."

"Well, maybe you should start keeping track. This is very easily the reason that you can't seem to take care of yourself. If you've descended into some kind of state of-"

"You mean, if I quit drinking, I could think," Russia snarled, downing the shot and re-filling the glass. "Just say what you damn well think, Toris."

Lithuania sighed. "Fine. Maybe if you weren't a drunk you wouldn't need my help."

"Why did you leave?" Russia's voice was weak, and for a moment, Lithuania felt a familiar sense of pity and fear.

He shook his head and crossed his arms. "Why do you think? You were a horrible master. You humiliated us and hurt us just to watch us scream. You were a sadist who exploited us for national resources and…"

"Shut up…" Russia muttered, throwing back his second drink and looking out the window again. "I did what I had to for the common good."

"Common good? Very funny, Russia."

Russia dropped his glass in the sink and brought the back of his hand against Lithuania's face, frustrated when Lithuania didn't drop to his knees and hide his face. He shook, but he didn't fall, and he didn't start crying.

"I did what I did to help you all, da," Russia repeated flatly. "It hurt me, too."

"Not enough, obviously," Lithuania snapped. "Now put the damn drink down and listen to me. You're the one who let this happen, and you know it. If you hadn't been fucking around with America you-"

"Don't talk about him!" Russia hollered, knocking the chair nearest to him over, his eyes blazing with fury. "He's a bastard. It's all his fault, not mine."

Lithuania examined the toppled chair and shook his head. "Whatever you want, Russia. Just hear me out about finance management this once, would you?"

Russia stormed past him and sat down in the living room again, and Lithuania followed. "Fine," Russia said quietly. "Lecture to me about your damn numbers. Da."

With a small smile, Lithuania began. And for some reason, Russia seemed attentive. He didn't ask questions, but it was obvious he hadn't drifted away underneath the flimsy mask of caring he used to put on when the Union was still in full strength. And after about two hours, Lithuania had run out of things to say, so he closed his briefcase and smiled. "Questions?"

Russia shook his head and there was a long silence. Then, hesitantly, he asked, "Toris… Was I really that bad?"

"Well…" Lithuania looked at his former master, and realized the man needed kindness. And Lithuania had never been one to withhold kindness from those in true desperation. "Most of the time, yes. But you had moments of kindness."

"And that's why you came back?" There was a kind of naive hopefulness in his pale, weathered face. His eyes lit up with expectation and Lithuania could only shake his head again.

"I came back for finances. That's all."

"And you'll leave again?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"You all leave in the end…" Russia muttered, laying his head down against the arm of the chair and staring hopelessly at the floor. "Even him. The hero is supposed to be there all the time, right? Supposed to be loyal…"

Lithuania couldn't bear to see Russia in this state. It was too odd, too jarring. It would have been better, Lithuania decided, to have had to lecture finances to the old, arrogant, Russia. At least then things wouldn't have been as painful. Mentally, at least.

"I'm sorry for what he did to you, Mr. Russia…" Lithuania said finally. "I know you're still hurting."

"He said he was the hero, right?" Russia laughed forcibly, "And heroes aren't supposed to walk out on projects like they were one-night stands. We weren't a one night stand."

"I know, but he thinks you can take care of yourself now."

"Do you?"

"No." Lithuania had never been one to lie. He had often found that lying got him into far more trouble than just stating his opinion. "You'll always be desperate."

Russia stood up and circled the couch. "You could fix that, you know…"

"I know. But I won't." Lithuania put the files back into his bag and stood up, smiling at Russia. "Because for as much sorrow as I can possibly manage to feel for you, I have to be grateful to him. He saved me from you, after all."

"But you came back," Russia muttered.

Before Lithuania could react, Russia had him by his collar and had put his tongue in his mouth. There was the over-powering scent of cheap, American food and vodka. Lithuania thought he might puke. And then, as soon as it had happened, it was over. Russia was smirking at him, the old gleam in his violet eyes.

"What… what was that?" Lithuania asked, dumbfounded, realizing he was shaking.

Russia shrugged and went back to the kitchen, pouring himself another glass. "You came back, da. I thought I should thank you."

Lithuania just nodded dumbly. "R-right. Well, well then. I'll be on my way. Think about what I said about money, alright? And Russia?"

"Yes?"

"I know this won't mean much now, but… I know, sometimes… Not often, but sometimes… We do miss you." With that, he darted out of the house, slamming the door behind him, and nearly jumping into his rented car, speeding away from the house.

* * *

The house remained empty. Remains empty. He should have made Lithuania stay. After the third bottle of vodka, things started to get warmer, but the hollow, sick feeling persisted. The words on the report Russia had been trying to read got blurry and the world was deathly quiet, so he occasionally shouted profanity to remind himself that he still had a voice. He did. There was no doubt of it.

The phone didn't ring. He considered calling Lithuania or Ukraine, but knew they wouldn't want to hear from him. And very briefly he thought about calling America, but it would have been too painful. He wasn't a masochist. He didn't want to hear the voice of the man who had loved and left him again.

And by the middle of the fourth bottle, it was too much effort to call anyone, or think about anything. So he staggered up the stairs into his bed.

Anymore, he's gotten used to sleeping alone. And when the sun comes in through the windows in the morning, it hurts his head and makes him nauseated, but it doesn't illuminate anything new. Nobody is left in the bed but him anymore. The Baltics no longer play the victim, and America no longer plays the hero.

Russia knows, though he will never admit it, that it is his turn to play both roles.


End file.
